The Potomac and Rappahannock 



Now the formal entrance is on the river, and looking 

 through the spacious hall, an open door gives a glimpse of such 

 beauty that you must hasten through to see the fulfilbnent of the 

 promise. A flagged terrace with two sentinel box clumps, just 

 where the steps go down, is shaded by the spreading branches of 

 an ancient tree. Sweet scents of flowers, the drowsy humming of 

 bees, and the swift dart of a bluebird from the wistaria vine, 

 truly, one could dream dreams and see visions in such a spot. 

 No wonder that the famous ghost of Chatham walks here some- 

 times at night, when all the world is sleeping. 



Beyond the terrace, the trim box-bordered walks reveal a start- 

 ling mass of bloom, where delphinium, lemon day lilies, and holly- 

 hocks vie with others in a riot of color, their brightness enhanced 

 by the background of dark evergreen. Here and there a bit of 

 white wall or a little white gate shows through, leading off to 

 mysterious places — perhaps to the dairy, perhaps to the smoke- 

 house, perhaps to the servants' quarters. Quaint rose trees line 

 the paths, many of white iris, daffodils, violets, and all of the early 

 flowers bring each year their promise of eternal spring. 



Though with the passing of the years, Chatham has stood a 

 silent witness to the history of our country, it still stands so serenely 

 that its life seems to have just begun. Through the loving care 

 of its present owners, its youth is renewed, and today one sees the 

 brightness of its tomorrow in the glory of its yesterdays. 



ASHTON FiTZHUGH WiLSON. 



[205] 



